


tell me about yourself

by etben



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, Job Interviews, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25052842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etben/pseuds/etben
Summary: Beyond getting several paper cuts in the same day or receiving the news that someone in your family has betrayed you to your enemies, one of the most unpleasant experiences in life is a job interview.—Lemony SnicketPatrick’s job interview goes okay, actually.
Comments: 56
Kudos: 217





	tell me about yourself

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to gus & j for audiencing this!

For all of his smiles, Ray Butani is an excellent interviewer. He doesn’t get aggressive or mean, but he also doesn’t ever relent, gently pushing Patrick to elaborate, to give examples, to consider other possibilities and discuss the implications. They talk for over an hour, and by the end of it Patrick feels wrung out, like he’s been hiking up a mountain instead of talking about the ramifications of the Working Income Tax Benefit.

It’s grueling, but it’s also—clean, somehow. Honest. A relief, really: a conversation where nobody yells or cries or looks like their heart is breaking, like Patrick specifically is breaking their heart.

After the week he’s had, Patrick is happy to talk about the change to the small business tax rate for as long as Ray wants.

“Well, I think that about covers it,” Ray says eventually. He stands up, brushing his palms across his slacks before holding out a hand. “It was wonderful to meet you, Pat.”

That’s the name on Patrick’s resume: Pat Brewer, pat.brewer@gmail.com, 705-822-3491, no address. Of course that’s the name Ray would use. There’s no reason for Patrick to wince, so he doesn’t.

Mostly.

“Likewise,” he says, shaking Ray’s hand. “So, ah—” He smiles, self deprecating. “What are our next steps?”

“A man of action!” Ray laughs, releasing Patrick’s hand to point at him. “A valuable trait in a businessman!” He sits back down, shuffling the papers on his desk. “And as a _fellow_ man of action, I don’t see any point in playing coy,” he continues. “You’re a very compelling candidate, and the job is yours if you want it.”

“I—yes,” Patrick says, the words barely audible over the roaring in his ears. “Yes,” he repeats, blinking rapidly, reaching for the armor of professionalism. “That is, I’ll want to read over the contract, but as long as it’s in line with what we discussed before—”

“Due diligence,” Ray agrees, nodding cheerfully. “Another important trait for an entrepreneur!” He taps a finger against the stack of papers. “And of course I’ll call and check your references, but that’s really just a formality.”

“Of course.” Patrick takes a deep breath. He knew this was coming. He spent most of last night pacing the limited floor space of his motel room, rehearsing his lines. “But, uh.” He swallows. “In the interest of full disclosure, those references—”

The words crowd his mouth, jostling for position, cutting off his air. Patrick knows what he has to say, but he can’t, he _can’t—_

“Pat?” Ray’s eyes are wide and concerned, the smile gone from his face. “It really is just a formality,” he repeats. “Anybody who knows as much as you do about incorporation is clearly a man who—” he pauses, waggles his eyebrows “—knows his business.”

It’s a weak joke, but Patrick laughs anyway, and the huff of air clears the bottleneck in his throat. “No,” he says, “it’s just—” He looks down at Ray’s desk, at the mug full of pens on the corner. There’s a rainbow flag sticking up jauntily from the nest of black ballpoints, one of the ones with a triangle along one of the short sides, pale blue and pink.

Patrick takes a deep breath. “Those references may—they’ll know me under a different name,” he says. “As, um.” All he has to do is say it: the name his parents gave him, the name he lived with for twenty-eight years. It should be easy, but those three syllables stick in his throat, jagged and painful.

“You know what?” Ray reaches for the mug and plucks out a pen. “I’ll just make a note here,” he says, scribbling at the bottom corner of Patrick’s resume. “And you can write it down for me.” He caps the pen and holds it out, waiting patiently as Patrick marshals his shaking hands to take it.

“Thanks.” Patrick turns the copy of his resume around, pulling it towards him on the desk. _Previously known as,_ it reads, with a little line next to it. Beneath that, there’s a single word in Ray’s blocky, precise handwriting, a second line following.

Patrick uncaps the pen, writes his name—his old name—on the first line. Eight letters; hardly anything, really. He hesitates, then adds _she/her_ on the line below it.

“Nice pen,” Patrick says, handing it back to Ray along with his annotated resume. It is, actually: not black after all, but a deep, rich purple, the ink gleaming on the page.

“Isn’t it? They’re a little pricey, but I’ve got a connection with the supplier,” Ray says. He glances down at Patrick’s resume and nods. “Now, I’ll be sure to use this information when I check your references,” he says, “but like I said, it’s really just a formality.” He pauses, looking up at Patrick. “Am I correct in thinking that _he_ and _him_ are the pronouns you’d like me to use?”

“I—” Patrick swallows. “Yes, please.”

“Very good.” Ray makes a note on the paper, right at the top next to Patrick’s phone number, like it’s just another piece of basic information. “Those are my pronouns as well,” he adds easily.

“That’s—thanks,” Patrick says.

“No, please, thank you.” Ray slips Patrick’s resume into a folder and sits back in his chair. “Now, is there anything else we need to discuss this morning?”

Patrick shakes his head mutely. There are a thousand things, probably—details of the job, where the hell Patrick is going to live, the terrifying lump of gratitude and relief that’s welling up in his throat—

—but they’re going to be working together. There will be time for all of that later.

“Well in that case,” Ray says, “I’ll draw up the contract, make some calls, and we can reconvene later to iron out the details.” He looks down at his watch. “It’s a little early, but the Café Tropicale should be serving lunch.” He leans in, his voice dropping low and conspiratorial. “The club sandwich is good, but I’d avoid the tuna surprise.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Patrick stands up, realizing as he does so that he’s starving. A sandwich sounds great, actually, or at least better than the half a granola bar that constituted his breakfast. “Thanks again,” he says, holding out his hand to Ray. “I really appreciate this opportunity.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Ray says, shaking Patrick’s hand vigorously. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Pat.”

“I—” Patrick takes a breath, clears his throat. “Call me Patrick, actually.”

“Of course,” Ray says affably, like it's nothing, like he’s not the first person to use the name.

Out loud, at least.

“Looking forward to working with you, Patrick,” Ray repeats, and Patrick nods, musters up the first honest smile he's managed in what feels like years.

"Likewise," he says, and finds that he means it. "I think this is going to be really good."

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know shit about Canadian tax law, or any kind of tax law really.


End file.
